


Middle Distance

by alasweneverdo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-3A, References to canon relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasweneverdo/pseuds/alasweneverdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’s mouth quirks up in a quick smile before he looks away. “Maybe you would’ve been my tether,” he says to the air, “and I wouldn’t still feel like I’m drowning in that fucking tub.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Middle Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and possibly nonsensical. Diverges from the plot after the first half of season 3.

"Stiles."

One word. That's all they get from Scott before he drops his phone and bolts out the front door, leaving it swinging behind him. Melissa claps a hand over her mouth. The sob she lets out is so quiet and so quickly muffled that Isaac almost doesn't hear it. He looks over and sees her watery eyes crinkled up in a smile, like a mother whose son has been discharged at the end of a war.

Or maybe there's a little too much truth to that, Isaac thinks, wrapping her in a hug. She laughs and cries into his shoulder.

It's been four years since anyone saw Stiles. Four years of him calling the Sheriff every other month—more if there was a holiday—and refusing to talk to anyone else. Four years of Scott swearing he would save up and fly out to Massachusetts himself, only for every promise to fall through. Four years of everyone pretending there wasn't a Stiles-shaped void in their lives.

Forty-six months (and two weeks and six days) of waiting, ended with a phone call.

Stiles is back.

  
—

The protective hovering makes Scott kind of resemble a mama bear, his cub taking the form of a twenty-something college grad. Isaac hesitates in the doorway, wondering if Scott will violently dismember anyone who touches the guy. Maybe someone should tell him that going to college isn't the same as becoming a prisoner of war.

Not like Isaac wasn't nervous enough to begin with, even without having to worry about getting mauled by his alpha. He isn't as anxious as he was at the age of sixteen, but there are some moments where he can't help fretting over what to say or do, thinking that even the smallest error in judgment will make someone hate him. He can't seem to grow out of thinking he's wrong about everything.

Something changes in the air. Isaac takes a single step forward, and Scott stops talking to fix him with a broad smile. Before Isaac can make another move, Stiles shoots Scott a puzzled look, then follows his gaze straight to Isaac.

Stiles has changed in ways Isaac can't necessarily put into words. His hair is messier and his complexion has a healthy glow; the muscles in his arms and chest, covered by a Harvard Lacrosse shirt, are more pronounced than ever; the skin under his eyes isn't a deep, sickly purple like Isaac remembers. He looks _healthy_. But those aren't the details that stick out. Isaac looks at Stiles and sees a different person from the boy who left Beacon Hills—different posture, different expressions, different voice. An alien wearing a Stiles suit.

Then he smirks, and it's the same smirk that used to pull at the corners of his mouth when he thought of a terrible idea. The tension lessens in Isaac's shoulders.

"Look who it is," Stiles calls. "Come to join the welcome brigade, Isaac?"

"Didn't have anything better to do with my day," Isaac says with a shrug.

Stiles laughs. "All right, get over here, Lahey."

Isaac does, expecting a friendly clap on the shoulder or awkward, one-armed hug, but Stiles closes the distance and pulls him in with both arms. If Isaac were a normal person, he thinks a hug this tight would probably be a little painful. Warmth rushes through him at the thought, though he doesn't know why. He doesn't insult Stiles by restraining himself as he squeezes back.

Other people start to arrive after that. Isaac notices a pattern in the way Stiles interacts with all of them: a long, desperate embrace, followed by superficial conversation that never answers any of the important questions. Everyone seems so thrilled to have him back that they don't call him on it. Not until Lydia.

"Are we all pretending he just went on vacation?" she says, looking around with an accusatory glare. Her eyes settle on Stiles. "Don't you think you owe us more than that?"

They all go silent. Some gazes fall to the floor, while others fix on Stiles expectantly.

"You are the last person who gets to say that to me," says Stiles. Isaac sees his jaw clench.

Lydia lets out a huff of outraged disbelief. Her hands turn to fists at her sides, knuckles pressing against her thighs. She put on a dress before coming here; it smells fresh, like she'd changed out of whatever she was wearing before (jeans, probably) to put on something nicer. Like this is an occasion that merits a little extra effort. Even with the shorter hair, she looks like the old Lydia again, the girl who wore floral skirts and too-high heels.

She shakes her head before turning on her heel and storming out of the room. Allison makes to go after her, but stops when Melissa puts a hand on her arm.

A beat of awkward silence. Then Scott says reprovingly, "Dude."

Stiles sighs, mumbles something that sounds like "Fine," and walks off after Lydia.

No one says it aloud, but Isaac knows they were all waiting for something to go wrong.

  
—

"Still freeloading at the McCalls', huh?"

Isaac doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge him at all for a while. He takes a long drink of his coffee and feels Stiles sit next to him on the bench.

"I'm between places," Isaac says eventually. "Got behind on my lease. Derek was gonna let me stay with him, but that never works."

"Yeah, what's he up to these days? I haven't seen him," says Stiles.

"Visiting Cora," says Isaac. "He'll be back in a couple days, probably."

"He know I'm back?"

Isaac nods. "I texted him."

"What'd he say?"

"'Great.'"

Stiles chuckles. "Oh man, he's a perfect example of how text-based communication fails to convey sarcasm," he says. "I missed his complete lack of enthusiasm for everything." He taps a foot against the pavement. "So what brings you to the world's saddest excuse for a park?"

He's kind of right; the trees are smallish and weirdly bare for summer, and apart from the bench and rundown drinking fountain there's just a lone swing set. Isaac knows from experience that both swings creak, even under the weight of small children.

"Needed some air," says Isaac. "You?"

"Same here. I figured I'd keep walking till I ran into someone who didn't wanna give me the third degree."

Isaac finally turns to look at Stiles. He's staring straight ahead, squinting, putting on an almost convincing charade of looking off into the distance. Still, there's an air of resignation in his slouch and frustration in his frown. When he turns to Isaac, the frown deepens for a second, like he didn't mean to get caught. The expression is quickly replaced by a sheepish smile.

He asks Isaac what he's been doing with his time, and Isaac lets out a self-deprecating laugh and says, "Dating girls I don't like."

Then he asks Stiles the same question, borderline joking, and the reply comes with a little smile: "Dating guys who don't like me."

Just then, for god knows what reason, Isaac suddenly thinks he knows why Stiles left. The only reason he'd given them after graduation was that he needed to take a break from all this supernatural bullshit, and that had seemed flimsy at best. None of them had pegged Stiles as the type to quit when things got a little inconvenient. But Isaac remembers what Deaton said about darkness, and he remembers how Scott and Allison were never affected quite like Stiles was. He remembers the paleness of Stiles's skin, the bags under his eyes. He was always sleeping too much or too little.

Maybe it wasn't that things became too hard. Maybe Stiles just didn't want anyone to see him like this. Maybe he couldn't handle having so many people in his life who were aware of how much he was deteriorating every second, who worried over him enough that he started to feel like a burden.

But that's just a theory.

When Isaac doesn't reply for a minute, Stiles says, "You know, it sucked when you started dating Allison."

Taken aback, Isaac asks why. He doesn't add that he agrees, because everyone can still remember how bad of an idea that relationship had been.

"I had the biggest fucking crush on you," says Stiles. "I bet you didn't even notice, huh?"

He's right. At the time, Isaac had thought Stiles was still hung up on Lydia. When he says this, Stiles shakes his head.

"You were too late anyway," says Isaac. "I liked you sophomore year." He smiles a little, like it could almost be a joke, even though it isn't one at all.

With absolute conviction, Stiles says, "You would've said yes if I'd asked, though."

Isaac just nods.

Stiles's mouth quirks up in a quick smile before he looks away. "Maybe you would've been my tether," he says to the air, "and I wouldn't still feel like I'm drowning in that fucking tub."

He says it offhand, like it doesn't matter. Like it isn't the worst sentence Isaac thinks he's ever heard.

"You could've talked to someone," says Isaac. "We've all been through shit, Stiles. Not the same as what you have, but you could've—I dunno, explained it or something, made us understand."

"Explained what? That I've got this gaping hole in me that won't go away? That I spend every second of my life feeling like I'm about to be fucking swallowed by this big cloud of darkness, or whatever?" His tone is light and full of amusement, belying the gravity of his words. "How do you tell people you think part of you is missing?"

"Why don't you ask Derek?"

"Touché," says Stiles. "Yeah, I guess he'd know, wouldn't he?" He shrugs. "Maybe I didn't want anyone to understand, though. It was hard enough going through it, but putting it into words? I don't think I could've done it. Tried to a few times with Scott, but it was too much."

"He went through it, too," says Isaac.

"Not really. Not the same way I did." Stiles lets out a whooshing breath. "I could tell just by talking to him that he wasn't dealing with the same thing I was. Kind of pissed me off."

Then Isaac asks the question that's been nagging at the back of his mind for years now: "Why d'you think it was different for you?"

It takes a while for Stiles to say anything. Isaac comes close to apologize for even asking, but he doesn't want to risk having Stiles not answer at all.

"Lydia's one of the best friends I've ever had, and I really love her," says Stiles. "But I don't think she was enough to bring me back. Like, I think there was a part of me that just got lost in transit. I've tried really hard to hate her for it, too."

"Wait, you think Deaton meant more to Scott than Lydia did to you?" says Isaac, gaping.

"No, it's more like... fuck, how do I explain this without comparing it to catalysts and energy barriers." Stiles laughs softly. "Okay, okay, so think of it this way—Scott and Allison didn't need as much incentive to come back. Maybe you and Deaton were just there to give added motivation or something, that last little push they needed to get over the hill." He purses his lips. "And, I dunno, maybe I needed more than Lydia could give me."

"Never thought you were the type," says Isaac.

"What, to be a shameless quitter? Hidden depths, what can I say."

"You know, for someone who doesn't want people asking him questions, you're pretty talkative."

"Yeah, well. I figure if I keep this heart-to-heart going on long enough, we'll eventually get to the point where you realize you've been madly in love with me this whole time, and we'll run off into the sunset together."

Isaac frowns. "That's not funny."

"It's hilarious," says Stiles. "I left home for four fucking years to get a useless degree at some stuck-up school, 'cause I thought that was better than sitting around and letting everyone I care about watch me have a mental breakdown. And now I'm back, and I'm so far from being me that I have no clue how to be part of my friends' lives anymore. It's the funniest goddamn joke you've ever heard, Isaac."

Isaac swallows back the lump in his throat. "Listen, if you need to—"

"Talk about it? So you can feel awkward and useless and I can feel guilty about doing that to you?" Stiles snorts. "No thanks. Bad enough now."

"Stiles..."

"You know, I keep thinking things like, 'I could turn on the charm right now and totally get him to sleep with me.' It's not like I've never done it before. Seriously, I'm really good at that."

"What's your point?" Isaac asks.

"I think it's my favorite way of keeping people from asking questions I don't have the answer to," says Stiles, raising his eyebrows.

Now it's Isaac's turn to look away. "Sorry."

"I would've been doing us both a favor if I'd just fucking told you I liked you," says Stiles.

Isaac doesn't know what to say to that, so he stays silent.

A minute or two goes by. Stiles gets to his feet, rocking on his heels a bit.

"Good talk," he says. "I'll let you go back to contemplating the sky or whatever the fuck." He starts to walk away.

"Hey," says Isaac. He stands too, stepping forward.

Stiles turns, waits.

"You should come to the next pack meeting," says Isaac. "It would mean a lot to him."

"Maybe." Stiles nods slowly. "Yeah, next time. Why not." He grins. "Hey, one more thing."

Isaac hardly has the chance to wonder what Stiles wants before the gap between them shrinks and vanishes into nothing. Stiles gets a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss that's all chapped lips and coffee breath. The grip of Stiles's fingers is hard and unforgiving, but right now Isaac can't even think of a reason to pull away.

A dog barks in the distance. Stiles lets go for a second, then presses another brief kiss to Isaac's still-parted lips.

"Last Tuesday of the month?" Stiles murmurs.

Isaac opens his eyes and sees Stiles smirking up at him, inches away.

"Yeah," says Isaac, hating the sudden hoarseness in his voice.

With that, Stiles takes his leave. Isaac watches him go and isn't sure what to think or do. Then he remembers his coffee, forgotten on the bench. He picks it up and takes a drink, but it's at the offensively lukewarm stage. Making a face, he walks to the garbage and throws it out.

Stiles doesn't show up at the next meeting.


End file.
